Laughingstock
by PopcornBird221
Summary: Molly is made a laughingstock of St. Barts hospital because of her affection towards a certain consulting detective. What does Sherlock have to say about this?
1. Hurt

Molly had just retrieved her morning batch of coffee from the more sociable areas of the parts of St. Barts hospital (where the patients were more chatty (morgue joke)) when she walked in on a very unfortunate spectral.

"Look! It's the lover of the dead!" Isaac Foreman pointed at molly with his fat finger while mocking terror. "Forever pining over that freak of a detective that will never return her feelings. Why? Because he doesn't even have any!" He burst out laughing along with several other people that had gathered around him to hear him reprimand Molly's unconditional love for the World's Only Consulting Detective.

Among the crowd, Molly recognized several of doctors she recognized as colleagues and several officers from Scotland Yard (such as Anderson and Donovan) who viewed Sherlock as a freak.

Molly stood there for many minutes, debating what to do, throw her coffee at him, talk back, or just walk away. However, her body made a decision that was none of the above after Isaac made his final crushing blow:

"How's he in bed? I mean, that how he gets access, isn't it? And I'm not just talking about the morgue."

He dropped the coffee and ran back to her sanctuary, the morgue. It would seem weird that she turned to the dead for comfort, but at least they didn't jeer at her for being hopelessly in love with Sherlock Holmes.

Molly slowly slid down the wall in the corner farthest from the door, tears coming so heavy that they threatened to drown her, not that she was trying to stop them, half hoping they would and save her from this humiliation.

As if on cue for the worst moment, a booming baritone voice reverberated through the morgue announcing his arrival,"Molly, I need to look at the freshest corpse you have", closely followed by his flatmate and partner against crime, John Watson.

They both spotted Molly at the same time. And then the final words, knocked down her last wall of dignity down:

"Molly," Sherlock's voice came like syrup, thick and slow, "I understand you wish to grasp my attention, but I hardly think that crying as I come in is the way to approach the desire."

Molly quickly stood up, tears still streaming down her face. But her face was contorted in the most heart-wrenching mix of heartbreak, hurt, sadness, but rage was easily the most prominent in her display of feelings splayed across her face, not even trying to hide her feelings. The lack of effort seemed to be slightly intimidating, even to Sherlock.

"Get out! You make me the laughingstock of the hospital! People mock me and make fun of me because of how much I-" she broke again, stumbled on her words and slid down the wall again. She was tired of the bullshit."Just-just get out." Sherlock and John, both looking like she had smacked, quickly ran out.

Once out, John realized and deduced what had happened. Then, he remembered what Sherlock had said to Molly just before she had exploded. He turned on him.

"What is wrong with you?! You-you-you-DAMMIT" John was so infuriated with what Sherlock had said he was at a lost. Before he could help it, he punched Sherlock square in the nose. What was more?

It felt wonderful.


	2. Arms

"Jesus Sherlock! Don't you know any better!" John was exasperated. His best friend had practically just whipped Molly Hooper with his ruthless words. He had no regret about punching him.

He turned away from Sherlock, suddenly feeling a very strong urge to hit his head against the wall as hard as he could. It was that or punch Sherlock again, who was still tending to a bloody nose outside the morgue that seemed to have no end.

"In all fairness, it was the wrong tactic to-" Sherlock was cut off with another blow to his nose, resulting in more blood flow.

"For a genius, you're a complete idiot!" John couldn't stop his anger, not that he was trying. It was no secret he felt strongly for Molly, though it was more sympathetic brotherly affection as he was also often a backlash for Sherlock's boredom. "You hurt her so much, yet she always comes back after you strip her down with you deductions and insensitive comments!" John cut off Sherlock before he could protest against what he had said, as he had opened his mouth to voice his opinions, "Don't tell me you so easily forgot Christmas."

John took a deep breath. He needed to calm down before he closed his eyes for a second and woke to find he had killed the detective.

"Go home Sherlock. Let me talk to her because your probably going to just screw up more."

The Consulting Detective just looked at him and turned on his heel to leave. Obviously nothing he had ever said had ruptured such a reaction.

John took another deep breath and cautiously made his way into the morgue.

Molly was still on the floor, crying her eyes out. Her anger had vanished when she screamed at Sherlock but it didn't take the sadness and sorrow that still filled her entire existence.

She gasped when she suddenly felt a pair of arms around her as seemed like a hug. Almost instinctively, she thought it must be Sherlock trying to regain his access into the morgue. So she did what she thought would finally put some sense into him. She smacked him hard.

"OW!" Molly's eyes opened wide she realized that it was not a deep baritone voice that had cried out, and it was not a mop of raven black curls that now met her eyes.

"Oh god! John I'm so sorry. I thought you were Sherlock!" A voice filled with concern and her feminine instincts kicking in, she ran to the sink to retrieve something that might relieve the pain that was probably pulsing through his cheek.

"It's alright Molly. I probably deserved that. I should have stopped Sherlock before he could say anything. I should have known he was going to say something insensitive like that." John sighed, still rubbing his red cheek.

"What happened today, Molly?" John thought he knew the answer but wanted his suspicions confirmed.

"Wouldn't Sherlock have already deduced it and told you?" Molly's eyes were filled with hatred as she mentioned the detective's name and unfortunate habit.

"He was a little too stunned to actually speak. That possibly because I punched him in the nose twice." He chuckled half-heartedly and Molly let out a minuscule giggle.

"But in all seriousness, what happened today?" the tiny bit of playfulness that was in his eyes a second ago disappeared and was replaced with concern.

Molly took a deep breath and told him the story. By the end, she was in tears again. So John did what any concerned brother would do. He wrapped her in a bear hug. He didn't think he had ever been so mad at Sherlock, not even after he discovered that his suicide was a fraud. But at that moment, with Molly in his arms, he kept it in, focusing on one sole purpose: to console a broken Molly.


	3. Apologize

Sherlock sat in his chair at 221B Baker Street. He was still stunned, he barely realized the taxi had reached 221B Baker Street until the cabbie shook him, alerting him that they had arrived and he couldn't wait there forever.

Sherlock couldn't remember ever having to make such an effort to hold his emotions back. If Sherlock anyone but himself, he would have given up entirely and let them flood him. But Sherlock was Sherlock and being the stubborn person he was, he wouldn't have given in anyways. Then again, if he were a regular everyday man, he wouldn't be in that predicament. He wouldn't have said those words and he wouldn't be trying to clean up a dried bloody nose. Those were strong hits. He was lucky that it wasn't broken.

He now sat staring at the wall, a yellow face smiling at him. But even that face seemed to be scorning him, disappointed and disgusted with actions in the morgue. Truth be it, Sherlock couldn't believe he had said those filthy words himself.

Never had he wished he could go back in time, but now, he did. There was one feeling that he couldn't help from leaking through: remorse. And it wasn't just this time. He felt a twinge of remorse that Christmas when he spewed those dirty words to Molly but now he was feeling that an infinite amount of times more.

He ventured through his mind palace, seeking Molly's room. It seemed that whenever he was a few steps away, it would vanish and reappear somewhere else, fleeing from his presence. Frankly, he couldn't blame it.

When he finally did come across it, he found it locked, something that had never happened in his mind palace before. The harder he tried to open it, the tighter it locked. Eventually he faced the fact that it was futile. Molly's room, normally so welcoming to him, was rejecting him.

It was several hours until he distantly heard the front door open. He left his mind palace and opened his eyes to see John, the front of his shirt damp with what he presumed was tears. That increased his guilt even more.

John looked at his best friend, still incredibly filled with anger, but more controlled. He knew his eyes were flaring and he made sure that Sherlock could see it too. He wanted him to know exactly how his inconsiderate affected those around him.

"How is she?" Sherlock's voice was hoarse from not using it for those hours. It was as if his body was shutting down on him.

John softened. Sherlock seemed generally upset and distraught about how his actions had hurt Molly. He looked at least ten years older.

"Not good. She's just spent the past three hours crying her eyes out. I want you to go say something to her, but I'm terrified your going to hurt her even more. You should apologize to her though..." John trailed off as if he were trying to decide the best course of action in a war was. Well, that must have been the effect of the army on him.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Could you at least tell me what was wrong?" John looked up as if he had finally decided the best approach was.

"Go ask her yourself. You hurt her and you need to apologize." John was softening up towards Sherlock, but he was still much more than peeved and was staring at him coldly.

Sherlock practically jumped out of the chair, bursting at the opportunity to fix his wrong. He was already out the door when he timidly stuck his head back inside the flat.

"John..." John turned around.

"Yes?"

"Sorry."

"What for?"

"For ever saying anything that hurt you like how it hurts Molly now."

And with that he was gone.


	4. Run To and Run Away

Sherlock took a cab to St. Barts, just hoping that it wasn't too late. Sure, he wanted access to the lab, but he couldn't help but feel there was another reason to his urgent need to apologize. There was an empty feeling that numbed through out his entire chest that seemed to be coming from his heart and his stomach seemed to be giving the impression that it was twisting itself. He wondered if someone had drugged something he ate or drank in the past twenty four hours. He made a mental note to ask John about it later.

(Line Break)

A huffing and puffing Sherlock Holmes burst through the doors of the morgue, nearly stumbling s he ran out of the taxi, throwing money at the cabbie and ran through the hospital as if the direction to the morgue was programmed into his instincts.

Desperately, his eyes scanned the room looking for any sign of life (pun definitely intended). Sherlock cried out in frustration when there was not even a paper fluttering from the draft that came in when the doors were pushed apart. His brain was going to explode, he was sure of it, from over loading. He wanted to scream. He so fiercely wanted to apologize and kill who had hurt her before he had even opened his mouth.

Angered by his delayed actions, he stalked out when he heard some equipment falling and hitting the floor in the supply closet, followed by "Dammit" in the voice of no other than Molly Hooper. He tentatively pushed the door open and peered inside. Molly was on her knees picking up some beakers that had fallen along with some utensils that had probably fallen out of the boxes that now lay on the floor, empty. She didn't hear the door open or see it as her head was bent over.

Sherlock saw his moment and bent down to help her pick up the fallen items.

"Oh, thank you," she looked up and gasped and backed up quickly against the metal shelves behind her.

"Sherlock-" she squeaked. She was obviously trying to sound angry but it had all drowned out after her cuddle with John. All she could muster was pain.

Almost as if in sync, they stood up together. Sherlock took a step over the equipment and towards Molly until she could feel his breath on her face. She attempted to back up even further, only to be met with the cold metal against her back. As if trying even more to what she thought was seduce her, he put both arms against the metal shelf, trapping her. She was sure he was reading the arousal that seemed to spike her.

As if she was injected, filled with confidence and anger again, she growled spitefully, "What do you want?" though it was more of an attempt to cover rising pulse and her dilating pupils. Though, it was a very effective cover.

Her words hit something in Sherlock but he wouldn't let it show. She emitted no reaction from the angel of darkness, with his perfectly sculpted features and pale skin that contrasted heavily with his dark coat and tailored suits.

Almost as if he realized what he was doing, he lowered his arms and took a step back. This was not just attempt to get back into the morgue. He was truly apologizing to her.

"I came to say sorry." He looked down. Molly's breath hitched in her throat. Sherlock, apologizing? To her? She couldn't believe it. Until she understood.

She scoffed, "Please, Sherlock. Don't you ever get bored of using the same tactic to weasel your way into the morgue? Couldn't you just find another hospital with another pathologist that won't fall hopelessly in-" she stopped before she could say anything more. Sadly, Molly had an unfortunate habit of stopping herself when it was too late.

Sherlock quickly perked up. "Hopelessly what, Molly?" like John earlier, he had an idea, but wanted her to voice her opinion first. He took a step towards her.

Molly pushed him back. "Don't you know?!" and with that, she disappeared outt the door.


	5. And the Chase Continues

As hard as Molly tried, Sherlock refused to stop pursuing her. They had left St. Barts ages ago, yet he still . She was quickly running out of air, and she would have to stop soon. Sherlock, on the other hand, had a record of chasing killers down the streets of London. Molly, fortunately for him, was much less agile and fit then most of the ruthless killers he had pursued before. It wasn't exactly easy to run bare foot either. Molly had already removed her elegant black heals.

Molly was quickly running out of options. It was elude him (which would be very difficult) or face him, the latter of which she was really not keen on doing. Fortunately for her, she spotted a very dark and very dangerous alley ahead. She decided when the time came, she would slip in an lose him.

Bad Idea.

Possibly it was the fatigue that was slowly beginning to plague her mind or maybe it was the fact that she was about to stumble head over heals if she didn't stop soon that resulted in her over looking two major problems in this plan: Sherlock Holmes had a very impressive memory. And in that very impressive memory, every street and back alley of London was programmed and accessible when the need surfaced. And if she took that alley, that need would be very clear to him. Problem two: anything could be lurking in the shadows of a dark alley, and that was without the fact that the English skies were already twinkling with stars.

Nevertheless, she dashed down the dark alley letting her legs guide her, completely forgetting she will probably never find her way back out.

"Dammit" Sherlock knew this alley well. Well enough to know it was bad news. If he didn't get Molly soon, things would end badly.

Every so often, Molly would turn back. Sometimes, she saw Sherlock effortlessly chasing her, and sometimes he disappeared from view. She always assumed that he wasn't to far behind and she kept pushing herself forward. It was one of those times of which Molly looked back in which she unintentionally put herself in mortal peril.


	6. Sorry

Molly looked back, desperate to escape Sherlock and his hurtful words.

Another bad idea.

Molly tumbled head first into what felt like a rock wall. Landing on her bottom, she looked up and came face to face with a very angry, very big, very aggressive, and very drunk man.

"Look what we have 'ere! A li'l doll, ain't cha sweet'eart?!" He laughed loudly, bending over. Molly could smell the beer on his breath mixed with a stench that could only be described as never brushing his teeth infused with having a skunk being frightened in his mouth, that made her gag.

"Wha'?! Don' like me?" He had rippling muscles under his white t-shirt and tattoos that would be considered derogatory and inappropriate in most social functions. Molly suddenly found herself wishing that Sherlock would catch up to her, and quick.

"Maybe if I give you a li'l kiss? Then will ya like me?" The brute picked up the mouse of a women and slammed her against the wall, cutting off her air passage and causing what Molly was sure would result in a concussion.

He pressed his chapped lips against Molly's soft ones, ignoring her obvious attempt to escape her harasser. So she did what she could in a position like that: a knee was quickly acquainted with a groin, causing ripples of pain to ricochet the man's body.

Seizing her opportunity, she dropped to the floor, stumbling slightly, and began to run. Unfortunately, after running so far, her feet were sore so she didn't get very far before she was grabbed again.

"You li'l bitch. I'll teach you to run from me." Taking her last opportunity, Molly let out one last scream, "SHERLOCK!"

(Line Break)

Sherlock had been running aimlessly through the alley for any sign of Molly, already fearing the worst, when the scream reached his well attuned ears.

"Molly!" Sherlock raced after the voice that had echoed down the narrow brick walls, only to find Molly, tears streaming down her face, and being held to a wall by what he could only describe as the missing link that dyed his hair an unfortunate shade of what appeared to be piss color. Obviously, this gorilla-human had no intentions of just kissing her against her will as he was brutally ripping clothes from her body, her lab coat and jumper already on the dirt covered floor.

Almost as if he was possessed by a higher authority, Sherlock saw a band of red cover his eyes and completely lost control. He assumed this was what John had felt when he socked him in the nose, twice. When Sherlock awoke from his trance, the primate was gone and a close to naked Molly sat on the floor, crying horribly, and curled up in a ball. It didn't take a genius like Sherlock to conclude that she was severely injured, emotionally and physically.

As awkward as he was in this situation, Sherlock gently sat down beside her and pulled her into her arms. The adrenaline still pulsing through him, he remembered why he was chasing her in the first place.

"I'm Sorry."


End file.
